


The Last of the Real Tours

by YaBoyTwoHats



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Boys Kissing, Concerts, Cooking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Mania, Mania Tour, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Touring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaBoyTwoHats/pseuds/YaBoyTwoHats
Summary: It's the second part of the MANIA tour- Late August through October. The four bandmates of Fall Out Boy were excited. Joe hadn't gotten to go on part of the first part because of his amazing new baby, and it hadn't been the same with a substitute guitarist. Now, they were back on track for this tour, and with slight budget cuts because of how expensive the sub guitarist was, they only had one bus and two beds.Pete and Patrick immediately agreed to share, but that isn't what caused the long trend of exciting and unfortunate events that happened throughout the tour. The two of them grew closer than they ever had been, despite already being best friends. Hell, maybe they'd turn into something more.





	1. I was just an only child of the universe, and then I found you

**Author's Note:**

> Updates at least once a week. Probably after I finish each chapter, so I make one for each one I post. No beta- just me and Grammarly. It's probably not great, but I'm trying. Hope you enjoy!

Pete slumped back in his seat, exhausted after finally having packed for the entirety of the tour they began that night. His chest was still covered in a pool of sweat that had collected on his shirt from the heat of the show and the friction of his bass guitar. While he did have to arrive at their tour bus in less than an hour, Pete allowed his arm to flop on the table, his head immediately following as he passed out at two in the morning.

The sound of an angel singing awoke him loudly. Pete shot up, rubbing his eyes immediately after getting moderate whiplash from moving so quickly.

"-so let's meet in the purgatory of my hips and get well! Hurry, hurry, you put my head in such a flurry, flurr-"

His hand found the phone and yanked it to his ear, eagerly responding.

"Yeah, Patrick?" He smiled groggily and carded through his hair softly with his free hand.

"Pete! Where the hell are you? Joe said he called you five times!" Shit. Pat was right, Joe had called that many times. In his defense though, Joe's ringtone was incredibly different than his one for Patrick, one more noticeable while awake than in a deep sleep.

"Ah, see, Pat, I'm at home. I think I passed out." He knew Patrick was probably facepalming right then and heard the sigh of disappointment.

"We'll be there in five, Wentz," he groaned, annoyed but relieved that his best friend was alright.

"Really? Thanks, kid."

"I'm saving your ass; not a kid."

"Whatever you say, kid. I'll be outside." Pete grinned again and hung up. He grabbed his one of his two suitcases and yanked the other along once he had shoved his phone into his skinny jeans, pausing only once to flick the light switch with his teeth. His door was tricky to get past but Pete managed.

As soon as he slammed the thing shut, he recognized a big purple tour bus with the CD cover for MANIA painted on carefully skidding towards his house. It stopped a second before it would've mowed down his mailbox, but it lurched backward just in time.

"'C'mon, Pete," Andy called out. Wentz rushed over and lugged his suitcases up the stairs.

"This has got to be new, right," Pete asked as soon as he had put the luggage down. The bus wasn't all that different, a couch that turned into a table and an enclosed bathroom like usual were components. The strange thing was that were also two rooms behind the bathroom.

"Yeah," Patrick informed him casually. "The rooms back there are small but they each have a decent sized bed in them.

"A bed? Not two?" Patrick shook his head.

"We have to share; Trohman and Andy already decided to share theirs together." Pete tried to keep his gleeful smile to a minimum as he thought of sharing a bed with Patrick for two months straight, aside from hotel nights.

"Cool. I'll take the left side," Pete offered his best friend, knowing he preferred the right. The two of them walked over to their room. There wasn't much room but there was enough to shove their bags in a corner and flop onto the mattress. He groaned, "Fuck, this is comfy." Patrick laughed. The two of them stared at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes before the buys revved and began moving. Neither said anything until a turn caused Pete to roll roughly onto Patrick.

"Maybe, uh, we should get in bed instead of on top," Patrick suggested dryly, "and turn off the lights as well." Pete nodded and pulled off his shirt swiftly, leaving his jeans on. Patrick turned away and flicked off the lights. He was about to pull off his own shirt but stopped himself, instead just kicking off his socks and clambering into the bed with his limbs moving everywhere.

The two finally settled.

"Goodnight, Trickle-Rick."

A huffing noise came from the other side of the bed.

"Goodnight, Pete."

"Memed it," Pete whispered into the darkness.

"Shut up," the darkness whispered back as Pete drifted off.

///

"Pete, up," Pete heard being repeated at him. It was Patrick, who was speaking this loudly and clearly into his ear from- wait, why was Patrick under him?

"Sorry b- Pat." He rolled off of his best friend for the second time during the time spent in his bed. He could lie to Patrick, but not to himself; he woke up having gotten better rest than he had for years because he had Patrick with him. Patrick made him feel whole; he made Pete feel like he wasn't alone anymore.

Patrick smiled sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it." They got dressed in silence, Pete fine with baring it all but Patrick requesting the other to turn around after he finished changing into a new shirt. Instead, Pete left the room with his socks for the day in his hands along with his shoes.

"Hey man," Andy greeted. He didn't have a shirt on under his light jacket and looked like he'd gotten up at least twenty minutes before, hair still damp. "You sleep okay?" 

Pete blushed and avoided the drummer's eyes.

"Uh, yeah. Great actually. What time is it?"

"About ten. We're here though, so no more driving until after today's show. Unless we find something to do" Right, Uncasville. Their last concert was in New York after the Reading Leeds one they all were so excited about. Patrick and Joe stepped out of their respective rooms at that moment, Patrick letting Joe pass him before letting the door shut itself and flopping down on the couch in the front of the bus. Pete joined him immediately, probably not the best of ideas as he ended up squished between the armrest and his bandmate.

Pete suddenly perked up from his slumped state next to the singer, causing him to fly a few inches into the air and land practically in Patrick's lap. He ignored this.

"We should go to the Dinosaur Place! I looked it up a few weeks ago! They have dinosaur roller coasters!" Patrick squirmed a little. "Dinosaur roller coasters, guys! We have to go!" Andy looked mildly intrigued and Joe seemed cool with it. "Is that okay with you 'Trick?" He remembered that Patrick had an extreme fear of roller coasters.

"Uh, sure, but I won’t ride anything."

"Not even a kiddie ride?"

Patrick thought for a moment.

"Maybe."

They looked up the address and drove for about five minutes, finding it easily. The lot was empty if not for a few cars scattered throughout the area. The door to the tour bus opened and Pete fell out of it, accepting Joe's offer of assistance in standing back up. 

"Holy shit," he yelled, earning the glares of a few odd parents around the parking lot. "Look," he shouted again, pointing at the park. A coaster with carts the shape of dinos was peaking over the gates. Pete knew he had to go on it.

"Joe, you'll go with me, right?" 

"The hell I won't go on a dino ride." The foursome slowly walked to the gate entrance, Andy agreeing to stay with Patrick and go on the merry go round with him. 

Once they got past the security, Joe and Pete raced each other to the ride. Pete won, having had a lot of practice running from when he played a lot of soccer. There was no line, so they opted to ride in the first cart together. The ride started up slowly. When the two men reached the peak of the upward slope, Pete began shrieking to get Andy and Patrick's attention. They dove downwards and Pete caught Patrick's eye, the former winking at the younger, before zooming back up. Pete smiled and shouted as the coaster sped along the track. This was going to be one of their best tours yet.


	2. You are the sun

Patrick was immediately given an almost painful high five after Pete and Joe bounced off of the roller coaster, making him rub his hand against his jean-covered thighs in discomfort. They walked around the park together happily afterwards, chatting and joking as they bopped around. A few minutes later they reached the children's rides section, full of different minimalist coasters that Pete immediately asked Patrick to ride with him. The rides themselves were essentially tiny, slower trains, so Patrick accepted.

Anything to get that mega-watt trademark Wentz smile on his best friend's face for another second longer.

The two of them clambered into the caboose, pushing them a little too close for comfort but still giving Patrick a sense of security in the form of Pete. The ride sped to about a runner's pace, going around a big triceratops shaped loop. Patrick smiled, head leaning on Pete's shoulder. That was fun. It took about twenty seconds total, and while he still felt relatively queasy, it was worth it. That was before it started going around the head of the animal again.

"P-Pete?"

"Yeah, Patrick?"

"Why didn't we stop?"

"These normally go around a few times. Five or six at the most, but don't worry." At this, Patrick could not do anything but worry and he shifted in the direction of Pete.

"Pat, are you scared?" The younger nodded and Pete felt extremely bad and at fault.

"Shit, Patty, I'm sorry." Patrick shook his head. 

"'S'fine. It was my choice anyway. To go, I mean." Pete hung his head.

"Is there uh, anything I can do for you?" Patrick opened his mouth to answer but let out a tiny shriek as the cart skidded forward through a turn and shook.

"Can you hold my hand, Pete? I'm fucking scared of roller coasters, man, I'm sorry. This is my fault- I shouldn't have-"

"Hush," Pete whispered, snaking his fingers in his right hand through the ones on Patrick's left. The next time they went around was the last, Patrick scrambling out of the card before it was allowed with Pete on his tail. Their hands were still connected. Patrick looked to where the two of them had left Andy and Joe, but the drummer and guitarist were gone. "Damnit," Pete reprimanded. "I gave you half a panic attack and Joe and Andy are gone."

Patrick shook his head.

"Pete, I wanted to go for you. I enjoyed it more than I would have on my own because you were there. You know I hate roller coasters, but I didn't consider this to be a coaster either. It isn't your fault."

"Are you sure," Pete asked tentatively as his gaze shone down on Patrick, eyes glimmering with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Positive." Pete grinned.

"You, Patrick Stump, are the greatest man alive." Patrick smiled back lightly. He hardly agreed; Patrick thought that Pete, the light of his life and the man with the sun's killer smile, was really the greatest man alive, but Patrick wasn't completely over his roller coaster freak-out and didn't admit it to himself because he was still jittery. The two of them walked around lazily, not sure where Andy and Joe were but on a quest to find them. 

Just then, Patrick suddenly noticed that music was playing. Not just any music: it was music from A Fever You Can't Sweat Out, from Panic!

"Oh, well imagine," Pete started to sing. "As I'm pacing the," he looked at Patrick expectantly, "pews in a church corridor and I cannot help but hear, no I can't help but hear-"

"An exchanging of words," joined Patrick, hand still gripping the bassist's for no good reason.

"What a beautiful wedding," they quietly sang together. "What a beautiful wedding' said the bridesmaid to the waiter. ’Yes but what a shame! What a shame the poor groom's bride is a whore." Were this a musical, Andy would've jumped out with his drums and Joe with his guitar, but it wasn't, so they kept singing along to their mutual friend's incredibly popular song until it ended and a better song by Coldplay replaced it. Some time later, they stumbled upon Joe and Andy in the very back of the park. Joe was breathing in a cigarette.

"Dude! This is a kids’ park! The fuck you doing?" Normally, Pete wouldn't have minded, probably would've even joined in, but something about it being in a dinosaur amusement park really pissed him off.

"Sorry. Brides being whores really makes me feel the urge to smoke." Joe stamped out the cig and shoved it in his pocket.

"There's a burger joint I saw has really good reviews and has vegan stuff," Andy said coolly. The other three nodded, Patrick more enthusiastic than the rest. He never ate the previous night, he was so worried about Pete.

The band got to the restaurant soon enough, each eagerly placing their orders when the waitress came around. Andy got a black bean burger with everything and fries, Joe got two sides of fries, Patrick got a cheese black bean burger and fries, and Pete ordered the restaurant's equivalent of a Big Mac. They chatted about their plans for the show: whether they were absolutely positive about the set list they had created and how amazing their tour was going to be. When the burgers arrived everyone scarfed them down like mad, hungry beyond belief. 

When they were handing away their plates was when the waitress brought it up. 

"You're, uh, you're Fall Out Boy, right," she asked, hesitating slightly before adding right.

Pete stuck out his hand.

"Yeah, we are. Pete Wentz, nice to meet you." The girl balanced their four plates in one hand and shook the bassist's happily.

"Sorry. I've been listening to you since I was about nine because my parents were fans, so this is really surreal."

"Are you coming to the concert tonight," Joe asked.

"I, well, I tried; to get tickets I mean, but they were all sold out. Not that I would've been able to afford them anyways, working here. It's really cool meeting you guys though." She scrambled to get the plates and Patrick recognized the look on her face. It was the look that fans wore when they wanted to ask for a picture but were too afraid.

"Can I get a picture with you," Patrick requested kindly. The young woman almost dropped her china plates nodding.

"That would be amazing, but I'd have to put these back first." Patrick nodded sweetly and smiled at her. She seemed to melt in his gaze and rushed to the back so she could take a picture. When she had come back, the four were ready for a picture. The girl, whose nametag read Indi, leant her head against the front of the table and pulled out her phone on the selfie function. Patrick felt Pete push himself closer to his end and a hand was suddenly placed as far down Patrick's back as possible. Pete lightly touched his ass, trailing his fluttery fingers up the small of his back and past his spine to meet his shoulder blades and finally settle softly in a clump of hair on the back of his head, pushing Patrick's trademark fedora up to make room for his fingers.

Andy and Joe leaned in for the picture too, trying to ignore the display Pete was showing to everyone around them. Their waitress took about fifty different pictures, asking if they wanted any for themselves after finishing.

"Uh, can you send me them," Pete asked quietly. The girl nodded eagerly and handed over her phone. He sent them to himself and deleted the conversation. "Sorry, phone numbers are too personal." She nodded and grinned.

"Your lunch is on me. Don't argue, it's for everything you've done for me. Your music has changed my life." She smiled again and went back into the kitchen. Patrick felt the warm hand in his hair retreat, moving down to Pete's phone. He looked over and saw that Pete was texting the waitress. this is pete. you are now a vip. come to tonight's concert and show this to the bouncer. we have extra packages. A screech was heard from the back, which Patrick felt was his queue to leave.

"Should we go," he only half suggested, already standing up.

"Yeah," Pete agreed, slightly alarmed at the girl's reaction. Patrick felt Pete slide his arm around his shoulders as they walked out, Andy and Joe right behind them.


	3. I am just the planets spinning around you

They drove to the venue in silence, the other three stunned that Pete would willingly give a fan his phone number. Pete sat next to Patrick on their bed, daring to hope Patrick would say something to him. He didn't.

"I'm sorry," he offered, eyes shifting between Patrick and his shoes in nervous hesitation.

"Yeah, okay," Patrick resolved. His voice was higher than usual, breaking slightly as he lied with sarcasm.

"Pattycakes-"

"Okay. I am okay. Fuck off, Wentz. Something could be going on and maybe that's why I'm in a shitty mood."

Pete nodded and didn't pursue the issue even though he knew Patrick was lying. Instead of talking to draw attention and affection from his best friend, Pete rested his head on Patrick's shoulder and pulled him close. The first time the band was introduced to him was also the first time he met Patrick over a decade ago, and he consistently made Pete smile brighter and brighter daily.

"I really, really am sorry," said Pete into Patrick's ear, pressing his lips against it softly and nipping at the tip. Patrick froze and the ear in his teeth flushed a beautiful scarlet-rouge color. "I don't do jailbait, Patty. I'd never go for that girl even if she wasn't, what, five?" His mouth moved smoothly around Patrick's ear as he spoke, teeth only grazing the lobe once.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He sounded confused, but thankfully not upset.

"Love you, Patrick," Pete murmured before detaching his lips. "You're a fucking godsend." He curled his face into Patrick's slightly chubby stomach and stretched his legs out. Patrick was breathing somewhat heavily, due to his asthma, Pete assumed as he relaxed into his best friend. He was like a- a- a teddy bear! Patrick was like a teddy bear. He was sweet and kind and always there when Pete needed him and listened and comforted and tolerated it when Pete kissed him on the cheek at odd times or acted overly cuddly and it was amazing. Pete really loved his Patrick; not that he owned Patrick or anything of the sort. They just had a bond.

As if he knew what Pete was thinking, Patrick slunk his hands and arms through Pete's armpits and lifted him into his lap gently, linking his own hands to keep his arms around Pete's front in a backward embrace.

"Thanks, Pete." It was like he knew. Maybe he did, maybe he read minds, but Pete didn't think so. Patrick just knew him.

///

Pete dozed off until the bus lurched and he slowly opened his eyes. He was curled in Patrick's lap, legs folded in the younger man's, back against his front, and head lolling against the Adam's apple on his neck. Patrick's head was resting on his shoulder, face in and pillow soft lips on his neck as hot air pulsated onto it when Patrick exhaled repeatedly.

"Are we," Pete started slowly, gulping hard as Patrick's breath hitched, "are we here?" What a stupid question to ask. As he pulled a curtain over that was covering their window the sun shone through, but more importantly, an arena stood a few hundred yards from their parking space.

"Nope," Patrick said sarcastically, chiding himself before Pete began to speak excitedly.

"Can't- can't wait to get in there. Missed it a lot. Missed sharing the stage with you." Patrick smiled into the crook of Pete's neck.

"I've missed it too. Somehow, I don't know, big shows feel more personal than an interview. It's just us up there, us playing our hearts out and trying not to screw up, but it's us." Patrick huffed into Pete's neck and Pete squirmed around in Patrick's lap until he was straddling him and they were facing each other, smiling with Patrick's arms now around his neck. He made eye contact with his best friend. His eyes melted. Pete wanted. He wanted and decided to try to look into Patrick's stark, soft, young eyes forever. The other looked around feverishly, unsure what Pete was thinking and unsure that he wished to know. They sat there, Pete gazing into Patrick's eyes and Patrick trying not to stare back until the door was yanked open.

"Hey, guys what's the hold- oh." Joe was taken aback at the sight of Pete straddling Patrick and gazing at him in a way that seemed little less than platonic. Pete glanced up and practically threw himself out of Patrick's loving grasp when he realized they weren't alone.

"Sorry," Pete said. "Distracted. Yeah. Distracted. Sorry," he rambled. Joe nodded, unconvinced as shown by the raised eyebrow he sported.

"C'mon then. Sound check and all that." Patrick nodded, looking stunned as he likely realized how compromising a position they had been in. The two men stood up and followed Joe out of the bus to meet Andy.

The stage was much larger than expected and gave them plenty of space to spread their instruments out. They were practicing in no time with one of their all-time biggest requests: Sugar, We're Goin' Down. While normally he'd hang all over Patrick, Pete tended to stick to himself during sound check practices just so he knew he wouldn't hit the wrong chord on his bass.

"Is this more than you bargained for yet," Patrick sang, and Pete swore that Patrick was singing huskier than normal, his voice unabridged even by his throat. Pete kept playing but couldn't take his eyes off of Patrick, flushing tomato red when his cock twitched in his skinny jeans as Patrick winked at him while moaning the "friction in your jeans," line.

"You're a fucking horny teenager, Patrick, you know that?" His best friend shook his head. 

"You wish," he finally responded during one of the short instrumental breaks. Pete gagged. Sometimes he forgot that the singer wasn't the insecure guy who hid behind his sideburns and his hat anymore and hadn't been since the hiatus. Patrick was always confident around him but would have never considered making such a dirty joke before they all took a break.

"God, I'm supposed to be the dirty one. Asshole," he muttered. Patrick just grinned and kept on singing, hitting every note perfectly and winking at Pete when he knew the other was watching. So, the entire rest of the song. They then played their set list and ended up playing The Last of the Real Ones twice for good measure.

The owner of the venue ended up coming over and complimenting them profusely; he was a fan as well. The four men all thanked him and offered to sign something or take a picture with him later, right then they had to get backstage to change.


	4. You were too good to be true

Patrick smiled clumsily at Pete before shutting himself away in his dressing room. The walls were covered in various newspapers with headlines showcasing the multitudes of bands that had performed on the stage here. He recognized some of them, but not many. Uncasville wasn't exactly tour bait. Besides, Bowie'd never played there, so it couldn't be that great either way. 

Patrick cut this train of thought short and began searching for his black duffel bag. It was important he did it, as it had his tour clothes for the day and he was already way too sweaty to be comfortable. Thankfully, he found his bag of clothes on a swivel chair in front of a mirror and locked the door quickly before stripping down.

He was already covered in sweat and regretted not having showered earlier as he was already covered in sweat just from practicing the set list. He shimmied some new black skinny jeans over the boxers that were damp and already sticking to him and threw on a slimming dark shirt and an unbuttoned long sleeve to finish off the casual-hot look. 

Patrick ruffled his short red-blonde hair quickly before throwing on his matching black fedora and going to find Pete. The door behind him slammed quietly and Patrick walked around, looking for Pete's room. He found a door with the purple and black letters 'PW' on a smooth paper taped to it, and knocked sharply. Then a second time. And a third.

When he got no answer, he just walked into the unlocked room. Moans came from the far corner in front of the full body mirror as Pete furiously jacked himself off. His pants pooled around his ankles, boxers still completely up, and shirt half pulled up in a feeble attempt to do what he was told to and change outfits. The mirror kept nothing to the imagination, giving Patrick his first look at Pete in such a light since Brendon had accidentally on-purpose sent him Pete's hacked nudes.

Patrick, stunned, breathed in sharply and tried to pick up his feet. They wouldn't move. Nor, it seemed, would his eyes that were latched onto the sight before him. 

"Ahh, ah fuck, oh fuck Patr-" Pete accidentally groaned out. This was the same moment he looked into the mirror. He realized Patrick was real and staring at him, remembered that he had his dick in his hands, and yelled. "Patrick! Get the fuck out! Right now," he shouted, shoving his well-endowed cock back into his underwear and hoisting up his pants. Patrick's legs uprooted themselves finally and he ran all the way back to the backstage area. He coughed nervously at Andy and Joe's confused looks when he arrived.

Patrick replayed the moment in his head. He'd walked into his best friend's dressing room. They'd done that to each other hundreds of times before; Patrick has seen Pete shirtless or further stripped down more times than he could count. He'd just been meaning to have a talk with Pete about sound check and everything that had happened on the bus after they got burgers. 

But Pete had forgotten to lock the door and Patrick walked in and Pete was jacking himself. And holy shit, Patrick had to admit, let's be honest, it wasn't a bad fucking dick. That was what scared him, that it really wasn't a bad dick. But Patrick was totally straight, and he'd seen Pete's cock plenty of times before without such a reaction.

At that moment he looked up to make sure Andy and Joe were talking amongst themselves before he looked down at his crotch. No bulge, right? No, that was just his skinny jeans making it look bigger. So, he wasn't turned on or anything, that wasn't why he felt weird about it. Had Pete been moaning his name? No, that was him realizing Patrick was in the room. 

Patrick pushed the pieces of that moment's disastrous puzzle together and forced them to stick, even if it wasn't the piece's place. It was such an awkward situation because Patrick had walked in on Pete pleasuring himself that was it. That would be awkward for anyone.

Pete arrived soon thereafter, no stain in his jeans, a hand sliding itself across the denim (in an effort to get clean?), and an uncomfortable silence between himself and the bassist. Joe and Andy noticed but didn't point it out until a few hours later, when they were talking but were unreasonably cold and were about to go onstage after Machine Gun Kelly.

"Hey, we'll go set up," Andy told them. "You two set out whatever the hell's going on. He and Joe went onstage to tumultuous applause and simultaneous uproar because where were Patrick and Pete? Patrick tried to stay focused but it was hard while his other two band members awkwardly cane up with excuses for his and Pete's lateness.

Patrick sighed, "I didn't see anything." Pete looked startled and a little disappointed.

"Look, I know what you saw. I also know you were there for about a total of five seconds until I kicked you out, so you didn't mean it and didn't see much. Just forget about it, okay?"

Patrick sighed again, but there was a hint of a smile ghosting on the left corner of his lips.

"Pete, I didn't see anything." Pete smiled at his other half.

"I get my dick isn't the biggest, but there definitely was-"

"Hey," Patrick shouted jokingly, slapping Pete weakly on the shoulder. Pete smirked at his best friend's response and laughed genuinely. "I'll admit it, I saw something. I won't say what, but it, what do you want me to say, it wasn't bad?" 

"I know I'm big, but you really don't need to be embarrassed. Don't go all 'blushing virgin' on me, 'Rickster. We got some very dirty songs to sing." On that note, Pete grinned harder than he had all day, surprising Patrick (he didn't believe that was possible) and ran out on stage with his bass on his shoulders, the crowd roaring with excitement. This show was going to be one hell of a ride. Patrick loved it.


	5. Gold Plated

Gold plated  
Pete knew immediately why Patrick wasn't following him on stage. He must've elected to stay another minute so he didn't have to look the part of a blushing virgin in front of thousands of fans who probably all were recording the show. Pete understood; he had a way with words that could make anyone feel anything he wanted.

"Anybody else wondering where our very own Patrick Stump is," Pete asked the crowd over the speakers, and hundreds of screaming voices responded, some with concern about Patrick, others just trying to get Pete to notice them by quoting some obscure thing he'd done or yelling 'Jason.' "Oh no, you don't think he's abandoned me, right? Patromeo, Patty, where for art thou, jerk wad?" Patrick started laughing and walked out onto the stage to more applause than the other three had obtained combined.

"Sorry I'm late, couldn't interrupt Peter's monologue. How you guys doing?" They screamed and Patrick smiled as Pete whispered encouragements into their headsets. God, Patrick was too fucking good to be true and always deserved the world. Some gold-plated motherfucker that was equally as beautiful on the inside when compared to the out. He was the man that brightened his day and was always nice to Pete when Pete never earned or deserved it.

"You can start the set whenever, don't worry about it, and have fun. They can wait for your beauty and your amazing voice, even though it will be tough. For me and for them." Patrick murmured an affirmation and that he was starting, not wanting any more unwarranted compliments.

"All right everybody, you all excited? We're going to start off with a song I hope you all have heard, it's called Church and it's off our new album MANIA that came out in January." The singer was about to say more when he was cut off by the sheer excitement exuding from the crowd beneath him. "You guys ready," he played, full knowing they'd be ready if he just started singing. The chorus of backup church choir singers started over the loudspeakers and Patrick started with the chorus.

"If you were church I'd get on my knees/Confess my love, I'd know where to be. My sanctuary, you're holy to me. If you were church, I'd get on my knees. I'd get on my knees! I'd get on my knees!" He looked around at the crowd going wild and shouted, "I dedicate this rendition to Pete motherfucking Wentz!" The audience roared into life and Pete laughed, hoarse and hunched over from the force of it, trying not to flush like his best friend had when he'd talked dirty to him.

When Patrick finally began to sing, "Take the pain/ make it billboard-big and swallow it for me," the crowd realized something off about his voice. Patrick seemed to recognize it too, but only that it wasn't Patrick. It was a hardness and roughness that never came out from his own voice; it was dirtier than his own. Pete was singing along with him. "Time capsule for the future, trust me that's what I will be." He heard Patrick paused momentarily to let Pete sing the next lyric alone for the grandeur of it all.

"Oh, the things that you do in the name of what you love."

He joined back in, "You were doomed, but just enough. You were doomed but just enough."

They finished together and Patrick started playing his guitar, letting Pete finish the song alone aside from being the background vocals.

"Okay, what the fuck," Pete asked into his mic. "That totally sucked ass guys, I'm sorry. There's a reason Patrick here is the lead singer." Roars of anger and disagreements shook the stage and Pete smiled, small and woeful.

Patrick choked.

"Can someone tell this asshole that he was amazing before I punch him," Patrick requested, feigning disappointment. Thousands of hands shot up, but Patrick just laughed them off. "Seriously though, that was a once-in-a-lifetime deal, Pete's the bassist for a reason," he said sarcastically. "Hope you all enjoyed that bit, I sure did. This next one is from Save Rock and Roll; it's called The Phoenix."

They got through the rest of the show without much pandemonium. Exactly twenty-three songs, eight from Mania, the rest a scatter plot of popular and unpopular, the former being their bias. They'd, of course, done Sugar We’re Goin’ Down, along with three songs from Folie. Only one of the three wasn't a smash hit, 27, so they didn't get any backlash for it. In fact, Pete thought, it seemed like the crowd wanted an encore. 

"You guys want more of us," Pete screeched to the crowd, who then received shrieks and cries in affirmation of his pseudo-tentative suggestion. The opening chords of Hum Hallelujah played themselves on his bass and soon Patrick's angel's voice rung true throughout the venue, cries and shouting alongs of the lyrics stifled by his volume.

"So hum hallelujah," the vocalist crooned, "just off the key of reason. I thought I loved you, it was just how you looked in the light. A teenage vow in the parking lot; til tonight do us part. I sing the blues and swallow them too." He sang the second verse, then chorus, then the bridge and Pete almost cried at how good he sounded. Thnks Fr th Mmrs was next after My Songs, and they finally ended with their single Hold Me Tight Or Don't. Pete scanned the screaming crowd and spotted his waitress from earlier, tears streaking her dark face as they ended their set.

"Thank you so much, Uncasville! Have a phenomenal night, and thank you all for spending part of it with us." Pete waved to the audience and finally let out a breath he might have been holding in for the entire show.

Patrick followed in pursuit, Andy and Joe at his heels. The singer caught up with Pete and let him throw his arm around his sweaty shoulders. Patrick leaned into the touch and grinned softly into Pete's shoulder. Pete pushed Patrick closer to him and grinned back.

"Have fun?" Patrick nodded.

"It was great. You're amazing, you know. You really should sing with me more often. You make the songs s-"

"Sexier," Pete offered. "Dirtier, hotter, sweeter? Lewder? Do I make you wanna t-t-uhh, t-touch yourself, daddy?" Patrick involuntarily spat into Pete's shoulder and laughed, a low rumbling sound that made Pete pull him even closer.

"Sure. Yeah, baby doll, your voice does so much more than that to me," Patrick joked. Andy and Joe joined them and they all separated again to change, Pete trying not to think about what had happened the last time he had been in the dressing room, but still not locking the door.


	6. But What's Inside You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning- not between Pete & Patrick

Pete tied his sheet of hair up and threw some deodorant into the mix of his outfit and called it good. He was tired and needed a good fuck to get his spirits back up. He hadn't had good sex in over a month and ladies seemed to love his scent after shows, especially fans. It apparently gave him a kind of animalistic, aggressive vibe that made women lust over him.

He would pick a face in the crowd because one target that he persisted with was easier than multiple women. Then Pete'd charmingly introduce himself to her, let her vent about how amazing the show was to someone who would understand immensely. And finally, he'd flirt with her until she asked if he'd want to get out of there. 

As he left the dressing room, Pete considered his options. Whose day would he make the best day of their lives by sleeping with them? Pete knew this was a vain qualification, but some of the women had shouted some NSFW things at him in the crowd about just how badly they wanted him. And some men too.

He looked around through the two hundred or three hundred people swarming in the VIP section and singled out his previous waitress right against the stage.

"Hey again, you," Pete greeted the girl coolly, having fought through hundreds of fans who would've probably killed to be that close to Pete as they had before and would've most certainly killed to get him to stay.

"Oh, hey Pete. Thank you so so much for the ticket! You guys were so good up there and your singing was so fucking amazing! I'm in awe." She batted her eyelashes at him to show her interest. "I'm Indi Lark the way."

"Pete," He reintroduced. "And yeah, my singing was so much better than the professional's. I'll stick to the bass, thanks." He replied sarcastically, and she tucked her hair behind both ears drunkenly while giggling her head off.

"Ah, you're so funny Pete." Not really. His self-depreciation wasn't supposed to be funny anyway, but Pete supposed that it was good she considered it funny or he may have lost his chance.

"You're so pretty, Indi." Indi let herself get bumped towards Pete and suddenly he had her in his arms.

"Oh, oops," she giggled and motioned to set herself free.

"I kinda like it here." The girl blushed at Pete's bland words.

"I feel like we could have more fun if we went off somewhere else," Indi suggested. Pete grinned devilishly.

"I was thinking the same thing." He led her off towards the tour bus and held the door of the venue open like he was a gentleman.

"I'm twenty-nine, by the way, just so it isn't weird. And I already know how old you are." Pete nodded with the tiniest inkling of a frown now etched upon his features. He usually tried to stick to people in the same age range of his, between thirty-one and thirty-nine, but she was close enough and eager. At least she wasn't 'like five.' Of course, she probably knew more about him than he could remember about himself from over the years.

"Cool." She giggled again and he pushed through the bus doors. He and Patrick's room was a mess but the bed took up most of the space inside it anyways. He picked up all of the clothes he had scattered on the bedsheet and kicked all of Patrick's stuff into a lone corner near Patrick's side of the bed.

"So how far do you want to go," he questioned her after quickly finishing his housekeeping duties.

"As far as possible," Pete smirked and pulled off his fluffy jean jacket and t-shirt along with it.

"You're sexy as hell," Indi complimented.

"Bet you are too," Pete shot back, tearing off her work polo and unclasping her bra. Her breasts were huge and dying to be marked, which was exactly what Pete planned to do. First, of course, he held her cheek in his hands and pushed a forceful kiss onto her lips, one which she reciprocated immediately. She tried to open his mouth up but he refused, keeping it PG even in consideration what the two of them were about to do.

"You wanna," she asked as they broke apart, jiggling her own breasts gently. Pete nodded and hesitantly took one in his palm. Looking straight into her eyes, Pete took a dark nipple into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. She kept her lips sealed but the way she rocked her open legs into his bed showed she was feeling waves of pleasure from it. Pete moved his other hand from her cheek to the rough denim covering his cock. He palmed himself as she ground into the blankets. When she let a moan he finally let himself go.

"Let's get your pants off," Pete groaned. Indi smiled in a lecherous way and slid off her black leggings to show off her lacy black panties. 

"Damn, you wear those to work?" Lark nodded sheepishly as she moved a set of blue-nailed fingers down her underwear. "That's sexy as hell. Let me do that for you, huh?" He dropped her tit and it bounced lightly for a moment as he pulled down her underwear and rubbed the previously covered spot with his calloused fingers. She was already wet and it made his cock get subtly harder in his pants.

"C'mon, Pete. Lemme help you out there." Indi fiddled with the button on his black skinny jeans and pulled them down so they pooled at his ankles like... like earlier. When Patrick- oh fuck Patrick- had found him jerking off. But then Indi's hand was pulling at the waistband of his CK skin tight boxers and all he could focus on was the friction. She ran her hand up and down his cock as he played with her pussy and his fingers spasmed when she played with the slit.

"Fuck, god, Pat-please. F-fuck it. Condom?"

"Yes." Pete dove in the direction of his bag and thrust his hand into the small front pocket, finding a bottle of unused lube and a half empty packet of condoms. Indi was so wet that he didn’t really need lube, but it generally made the experience more pleasant for him and, as a result, made whoever he was fucking enjoy it more too. He found a condom and finally yanked down his boxers to show off his disappointingly semi-hard erection. Shit, had she noticed? Indi kept stroking herself and Pete, seemingly unaware, so Pete just opened the plastic covering of the condom and rolled the rubber onto himself.

"You ready," Pete panted after lubing up his fingers and rubbing them on her vagina.

"Yes, inside me, now," she breathed out. Pete pushed his fingers into her to get her ready for his cock. After mere moments Indi begged for it and he pushed inside her but still, it didn't feel right. Then the door burst open. Pete's eyes widened in surprise and a slight bit of thankfulness. And Patrick, more livid than terrified, screamed.

"What the actual living fuck, Peter?" Patrick’s words ignited him, and he let himself explode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I'm so awkward in this smut. I read and write a lot of it but I'm horrible at straight sex.


	7. I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, references to sex?

Patrick noticed immediately that Pete had gone off, well, somewhere. He figured it didn't matter since he'd still have his phone on him in case he didn't get on the bus in time. Knowing this, Patrick went to the backstage entrance where hundreds of fans tried to crowd into a space that could probably only fit fifty. Andy and Joe soon arrived separately as well. The three bandmates had to answer a few questions about where Pete was before the concertgoers seemed to understand that Patrick, Joe, and Andy didn't know either.

"We need Pete," one young person groaned. "We came to this place for him. The whole city came here for Wentz, okay." The people around went dead silent, realizing just how much of a mistake complaining like that was.

Patrick glared shamefully at his shoes, too drained to think up a lasting retort, but Joe was ready.

"Yeah, well guess what, dipshit. He isn't here." Shouts of jubilation filled the small space alongside a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Patrick looked up and shot a fleeting, but honest, smile at Joe before looking back to their fans. They greeted as many people as physically possible while taking their space constraints into consideration. 

"Did you enjoy the show," Patrick asked the love-struck guy in front of him. He blushed and grinned.

"Yeah, wow, you're kind of one of my favorite people ever and holy shit you can sing so well." Patrick smiled tentatively back at the man. 

"Thanks, uh?"

"David."

"Well, thanks, David." David stuck out a small hand to the older.

Patrick felt a little uncomfortable considering that the guy hadn't even asked, but Andy seemed to have noticed and shunted Patrick to the left, seemingly by accident.

"Sorry, Patrick. Hi, I'm Andy." Patrick greeted a few teenagers in the area he'd been shoved towards and listened to them talk about the show, interested in their opinions even though the majority of fans would probably refuse to find anything wrong with the performance. 

The three men talked to the crowd for another twenty minutes, Patrick getting increasingly annoyed by the fact that Pete hadn't arrived to talk to fans with them yet. Usually, Pete would at least come and say hello to a few of the people who had paid to see him, but today it seemed to be different. Patrick ran his fingers through his short strawberry blonde hair nervously. Where was he?

Patrick's train of thought was cut abysmally short as Andy and Joe motioned to him.

"Ready to go," Joe asked. Patrick nodded and they all waved at their audience before walking backstage. Pete still wasn't there.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," Patrick responded quickly, now looking at Joe, who shook his head. Andy frowned.

"I guess he's probably on the bus, then," Joe supplied.

"I guess." They were quiet again until they decided they should go to the bus, at least to check. Well, they decided to have Patrick check alone while Joe and Andy chatted by the venue doorway. It was fine and Patrick was absolutely okay with being the one to look for Pete. Pete was his best friend!

The thirty-four year old singer sped across the parking lot, the noise of his sneakers scratching across the gravel like fingernails on a chalkboard piercing the evening musk. When he reached the bus something about it felt like home and Patrick just knew that Pete had to be on it too. The door was ajar, which proved his point further, but after he climbed the three-step stairs, he noticed that the bus itself was quieter than the breeze. 

"Pete," he whispered. "Are you here?" Patrick swore he heard shifting noises from under the gap between his room's door and the plated linoleum flooring the oh-so-cheap bus manufacturers placed down. Slowly, Patrick grabbed a bulky metal flashlight from an open cabinet and proceeded to inch towards his and the bassist's shared room. "Marvelous," he muttered pitifully. Another noise, this one sounding like the moan of an injured person, and Patrick was walking the last few steps briskly to his room and threw open the door, ready to strike.

Fuck with a capital F. 

He supposed he was in the wrong, but then again, Pete's with the goddamn five year old waitress from earlier what the fuck am I supposed to do?

So he did the first thing he thought of after he felt his first emotion, anger. He shouted.

"What the actual living fuck, Peter?" His powerful voice shook the bus and scared the waitress off of Pete's dick and under the covers of his side of the bed. Pete just yanked his boxers up and tucked his cock into his underwear unceremoniously, looking Patrick dead in the eyes the whole time.

"Yeah, we were going to fuck, what's it to you?"

"Seems like you already got halfway in there, huh," Patrick spat, voice full of venom but head full of fog.

"Hey, Indi is not a 'there' Patrick."

"Oh, the five year old has a name?" Pete glared at Patrick, but there was an impression of a smirk on the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, isn't that what you told me earlier? Oh no, Patrick, don't worry about me fucking the waitress, 'I'd never go for that girl even if she wasn't five' right?"

Indi smacked his arm painfully.

"Dickhead," she cursed at him, Patrick smirking against the door frame at her response. Pete rolled his stony eyes at Patrick's figure. They stayed there, not moving aside from their eyes until Indi coughed. "Am I allowed to leave?" Pete grimaced and jerked his head back to say get out without words. She took the hint and smacked her hand over Pete's eyes as she gave Patrick a death glare. He turned and he heard the sound of fabric stretching itself to stick to her form and less than a minute after he moved, she brushed past him. "You guys suck."

"I thought that was your thing," Patrick sassed, and she looked flabbergasted to the point that she leapt out of the bus and broke into a sweat-inducing sprint.

"Ha, nice one, Patrick. You were totally savage!" Pete was still in his boxers and somehow was still achingly hard.

"God, Pete! Don't make this a fucking joke! You said you wouldn't!"

"What's it to you," Pete snapped. "I haven't had so much as a fucking kiss in over a month, and a girlfriend in a year. I deserve some love, Patrick."

"All of us guys love you, Pete."

"Patrick," said Pete calmly, in the tone a nurse might use with a patient during a breakdown, "you know what type of lovin' I mean and I am certain you aren't offering up your own, Andy, or Joe's services." Patrick flushed and shook his head, almost smiling until he realized what Pete was doing.

"Oh fuck no Pete, you're not going to change the subject. You told me you'd never go for her and then I find you shoving your cock in her on my-"

"Our!"

"A bed that I sleep in," Patrick growled. Pete glowered at him. 

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't walked in in me without asking, 'Trick."

"I knocked three times in the span of a minute." Pete rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but the door was locked. Wait, you jimmied the lock what the-"

"It wasn't locked, Pete."

"Oh." And Pete put this dopey grin on his face that made Patrick explode in all the right ways and he started chuckling before it turned in to full blown laughter. Pete's smile grew brighter and he started laughing too, reaching out for Patrick's pastel arm to pull him onto the bed. Patrick held it out for him and felt himself get led next to Pete, thankfully on the side of the bed that had not touched the waitress's naked ass (among other things.) Pete, unabashed about the fact that he was practically naked next to the man who had seen his cock more times that day than anyone had for a month, slung his arm around Patrick as they laughed and dug his face into the shorter man's neck.

"You're still sleeping on the couch tonight," said Patrick through a mouthful of giggles. "And I'm burning everything but the mattress." Pete frowned playfully and whined.

"Please?"

"Nope. Now go shower you're disgusting." Pete hopped up and whistled dutifully.

"On it, sir." He skipped to the back of the bus but the movement didn't hide his erection. Patrick ignored it and went back to the venue doorway to explain to Joe and Andy why their waitress had run screaming from their vehicle.


	8. But not as much as I do

True to his words, Patrick made Pete sleep on the couch that night, burning the sheets just before the driver took off again. Even Andy and Joe thought it was a fair punishment when he explained why Patrick was kicking him out. Pete understood but also absolutely despised his reasonable decision. The unfortunate thing was, Pete had only done it for one night and already missed the comfort of sleeping with another person, something he coveted when thinking of couples. He always felt safer with someone else in bed with him. Not that the sparsely cushioned lumpy couch Pete was sprawled across entirely counted. It was hardly better than a leaky mattress, which, actually, Pete would've preferred in this situation.

Pete whimpered again, curling in to his thin blanket that wouldn't even cover his knobby knees if he wasn't in the fetal position. He could hear Joe and Andy's muffled laughter through the door, a tinny light shining weakly under the door and barely reflecting on the flooring. Trying to fall asleep, he closed his eyes forcefully and curled into himself this time.

"Patrick," he whined. He could feel sleep overcoming him and could assume a nightmare would be soon to follow, probably with killer neon yellow highlights and singing white caplets sliding down his throat dry as the red blurs got closer and closer to his beat up car and he followed the ambulances, sobbing from the other line as he begged Pete to please, please:

"Stay alive!"

And nothing else mattered except for Pete and it wasn't healthy because he was speeding to get to him and he was afraid for his own life because of how erratic his driving was getting and he, Patrick Stump, knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't save the man who was now choking on his own sobs and screaming at himself to keep his eyes the fuck open. He'd probably end up with the same fate as Pete was facing. And then Patrick pulled into the parking lot, Pete recognizing the model, and he shouted and begged for him to the paramedics. They were incredibly reluctant until Patrick started pleading for the same thing and they remembered that there was one passenger's seat in the back of the vehicle.

Of course, on principle, Patrick refused the seat, opting instead to stand by Pete's head and softly run his fingers through the other's hair. Pete scooted himself over, nearly falling off of the bed, and patted next to him. 

"Please," he asked. Patrick sighed and clambered onto the bed, ignoring the paramedic's protests because of Pete's happy mewling as he sobbed on the cushion. Soft strawberry hair tickled Pete's nose until he shrank himself down so he could nuzzle himself into the other's chest. He rested his face between Patrick's pecs and breathed in the calming scent. It helped but not enough to get him to stop sobbing and soon there was a dark blue stain on Patrick's light blue shirt from his tears. "I'm sorry."

"Just don't try again," Patrick breathed into Pete's fringe, nose rubbing the top of his head.

Pete hiccupped and whined, having meant that he was sorry for wetting Patrick's shirt, opting to not speak for the rest of the trip to the hospital. Instead, he tangled his legs between Patrick's and pulled him tight up to himself. His lips fell open and he slowly breathed Patrick in until he wanted to be closer again, now pressing them against Patrick's chest and burying his nose in it. Everything was silent except for Pete's sharp hiss when a paramedic pushed a needle into his hand to get 20 cc's of bullshit coursing through his veins. Yeah, cause more drugs will stop the pills from killing him. 

The unthinkable happened. Except it was thinkable. Pete felt Patrick being pulled away from him and the ambulance- the ambulance just stopped. Evidently, they were at the hospital, and Patrick was not a direct kin of his and he was being shoved off of the ambulance, away from the vehicle and away from Pete, and Pete sobbed harder than he had while taking the pills.

"Stop, stop! I need him! Please, please!" He thrashed from the bed and got caught on a piece of equipment as they rolled him out. He fell hard, hitting his head with an ear-splitting bonk and crying out, "Patrick," sadly. 

And then Patrick was there, sans sideburns, fedora, and sixty pounds, still just as beautiful with a worried expression on his face as he was with tear tracks in what must've been a nightmare. 

"Pete," Patrick asked quietly, head tilted adorably in curiosity, looking like a puppy.

"Patrick," Pete finally said, and actually spoke to the man in question at that time.

"Pete," murmured Patrick, opening his arms and pursing his lips at Pete's reddened eyes and awkward position on the floor.

"I- fuck- uh, fell."

"Of course, Pete." It was sarcastic but full of so much understanding that Pete couldn't help but turn to jelly and let Patrick pull him up by his sweaty palms. Patrick flopped his arms out again and smiled encouragingly; it reached his eyes even though they were starting to go iridescent with tears (still gorgeous.) Pete flung himself into Patrick, who patted his back awkwardly while Pete tried to touch every appropriate part of Patrick possible. Pete threaded his fingers through Patrick's hair and cried some more into Patrick's white neck, rubbing his thankfully not dripping stuffy nose against the skin softly as the hand unoccupied by hair looped around Patrick's neck and they hugged. Patrick closed the embrace warmly, both arms under Pete's and fully around his toned midsection.

"Patrick," Pete moaned out of happiness. The other smiled into his shoulder (or Pete thought he did judging by the warm feeling of hot breath moving on the uncovered skin. Maybe that was why he had been so cold: he had no shirt on. Pete considered pondering this but at that moment, Patrick spoke.

"Come back to bed," Patrick said. It wasn't a request, it was a statement and a type of speaking Patrick didn't usually take part in. He didn't respond for a second causing Patrick's face, formerly full of hope, fell in misery. "I get it." He let his arms droop back to his sides and his posture declined.

Pete's facial expression changed as quickly as Patrick's had, his to a face full of shame, worry, and panic.

"No, fuck, of course, I wanna sleep with you Patrick- that came out wrong. Yeah, I want to get into bed with- no. Fuck, Patrick, I want to share a bed with you, obviously." Patrick looked confused for a moment, trying to take in the whole rant, but when he got it he broke out into a smile.

"Great," Patrick said rather lamely, but the sentiment exuded from Patrick and he didn't need to say anything else. Pete shifted and bent his knees a little so he could bury his face in Patrick's clothed chest and wrap his arms around him again. They stayed like this, breathing evenly in sync and in each other's arms, until the little bit of light shining under the other boys' door went out, silent. They couldn't even see the whites of the other's eyes.

"We should- can we go back?" Patrick simpered and led Pete by the hand back to their room, knowing he was blinder in darkness than Patrick was without glasses. He helped Pete to bed and Pete couldn't help smiling at the affection Patrick was showing him. "Thanks, Trick."

Patrick pressed his lips against Pete's forehead for one heart-clenching moment and time froze as Pete's mind spun out of control; because it was he who normally forced kisses on an unknowing Patrick, it had never been the other way around- Patrick smiled and retracted from Pete's forehead.

"You looked a little like a deer in headlights; I wanted to calm you down." Pete felt his skin flush and thanked Patrick for not turning the lights back on.

"Yeah well... shut up." Patrick laughed and they exchanged goodnights when he finished. Patrick fell asleep before Pete did, and Pete ended up propelling himself closer to Patrick, arms burrowing under the other's sleep shirt. His legs spread Patrick's and he tangled them together, face now rubbing against Patrick's neck. He heard every inhale and exhale of Patrick's nasally breathing. Fuck, Pete did love Patrick, but he really wished he had a girlfriend, hell, or a boyfriend he could do this with rather than his straight best friend. But he needed Patrick more than anyone else needed Patrick and more than he needed anyone else. They were so close that it had gotten to the point that both Andy and Joe (who was notorious for being almost as oblivious as he was) had assumed they were having some form of quiet affair or fling together. It was something that, on average, the drummer or guitarist would ask the singer or the bassist once or twice a year, even when Pete was engaged for a few months to Ashlee Simpson and Patrick was dating that girl Elisa, who moved.

Instead of questioning why he remembered the name of Patrick's girlfriend from over six years ago, Pete focused on Patrick. He rubbed his face into the other's hair until his head fell down in sleep and he curled even closer to the younger man. If only he knew that feeling was the best he'd ever have.


	9. You're the last of a dying breed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sis idek

Patrick awoke with a God's toned arms around him and never wanted to leave. Then he remembered that he had kicked Pete out last night. And then he remembered allowing Pete back in bed, meaning the only person whose arms could be around him was-

"Morning, Stump," Pete yelled into his ear, causing Patrick to his in anger and swat at the arms Pete had dug under his shirt. He groaned and slapped at him until Pete finally let go, sadness on his face. "But, Patty, I slept so well because of you."

"Yeah well, that was when we were sleeping. I don't-" Patrick cut off, not knowing what he was going to say next and not wanting to dig himself into a hole Pete would fill with teasings for a good week until he got bored.

"Don't what, Patrick?"

"I don't, uh, I don't want to talk about it," he thought up quickly, throwing himself out of bed and tearing his shirt off. "I'm gonna shower." Pete's eyes glinted menacingly and he smirked.

"Not if I get there first!" The elder sprang from the mattress and sped out the door and after another second Patrick heard a door slam and a whoop from behind it. Serves him right for mentioning something to Pete ever. He sighed and started digging around in his bag, ignoring the condoms that he'd probably never use and pulling out a pair of boxers. He pulled out a blue cardigan with it, as well as a black and red band shirt for something he hasn't listened to in years and a pair of black skinny jeans identical to the pair he'd worn the previous day. 

After that, he combed his hair and took a baby wipe bath in the privacy of his room, only just having enough time to pull on his jeans before Pete barged in, torso as bare as it was when he'd left and towel just barely clinging to his dripping hips. He didn't look bad, but his face was in distress so he focused on that rather than the shirt he had yet to pull on. 

"I don't have a clean pair of boxers, fuck. Can I borrow a pair; I had just grabbed a handful and apparently all the rest are dirty." Patrick grimaced but leant over to fumble with his bag again, the condoms falling out this time when he finally yanked out a pair of underwear.

"Oh, Tricky," Pete smirked. "You gettin' some lately? Was she hotter than the girl you kicked from my clutches yesterday?"

"At least my flings are in my age range," Patrick spat back.

"Hey, I'll have you know she was, uh, twenty-eight, maybe. No, thirty. Wait! She was twenty-nine."

"So, my age range, not yours."

"Ah fuck you, we're basically twins anyway." Patrick chuckled and shook his head playfully.

"We're attached at the hip but we're certainly not twins. There's a hell of a difference."

"You go in front of thousands of people and preform my words." Patrick sighed, exasperated.

"Don't you need to, like, change or something? You don't have any clothes on," Patrick pointed out.

"If you'd stop yapping I would now turn around unless you wanna see my dick in higher res than yesterday." Patrick blushed pink and turned. He had been trying to forget about the two separate times he had seen Pete naked enough to get a good look at his bits yesterday, but, of course, Pete was the type of person to remind someone of something like that at any possible moment to hype himself up. Patrick ignored Pete until he heard the noise of Pete zipping up his jeans, a whole five minutes after Patrick had blushed and pulled his shirt on to hide the tint in his cheeks. He turned his body on the bed to face Pete's back and coughed to get his attention.

"You're a child, you know that?" Pete turned too, a smirk on his face that reached his eyes and suddenly Patrick regretted ever joining Fall Out Boy in the first place.

"That's disgusting then, Patrick. You think of me as a child! Wow! I didn't realize I'd have to expose you as a pedophile, Rick!" Patrick, confused, shone puzzled eyes at Pete and tilted his head rather than asking what the fuck? because he didn't want to seem like the child he's just called Pete.

"Well, you see, Rickster, you were groaning some stuff in your sleep last night, if I may, that wouldn't exactly be safe for a concert of ours full of teenagers. ’Ugh, Petey, harder, fuck, Daddy faster ohh.'" Pete pawed over his own dick as he recited and Patrick furrowed his eyebrows in shame. He didn't like Pete, certainly didn't love, and would never in a million years have thought of Pete in a, say, sexual manner. He didn't think he would, anyway. Pete was still rambling but Patrick couldn't listen, not after knowing he'd done that the previous night. Fuck, had his boxers been wet with come when he woke up? Patrick thought and couldn't remember, and that was what scared him.

"Pete," said he, trying to hold back tears of embarrassment and horror when he said the man's name. Pete looked closer at him and looked hurt and remorseful at the sight of tears now streaming down Patrick's face. Turns out he couldn't keep them in. "Fuck, I'm so sorry I did that I didn't mean to and I don't feel that way about you so I don't know how it happened but I'm really sorry it did that must've been so fucking awkward." Pete smiled sadly at Patrick, and Patrick understood so quickly that his skin turned white hot and the tears on it quickly evaporated, leaving an angry little fireball in the place of the teary-eyed buffoon.

"I'm sorry, Pat, it was a joke. You know I don't like being called immature by you do I was just, like, retaliating for once. You get it." He simmered down as quickly as his tears had gone away because yeah, he did get it. He was bullied a lot during high school when he wasn't escaping to play instruments during lunch, bullied in the early stages of the band for his height or his weight or his voice, bullied during Soul Punk for, again, his weight and his lack of bandmates named Andy, Joe, and Pete, and bullied after that by once loyal fans for helping to change the sound of the once hardcore emo band. He'd been bullied too often in his life to become his best friend's bully. Pete had been bullied too; he was one of a kind, the only one in his breed, what did he expect? 

"Yeah, I do." The moment felt really domestic and Pete then pulled Patrick into a hug, sealing its fate.

"You ready for the day now," Patrick felt and heard Pete whisper into his ear.

"Of course," replied Patrick. "I'll always face the world with you."


	10. I Wonder If Your Therapist Knows Everything About Me

It was an hour after he had pretended to wake up at the same time as Patrick, and Pete was finally walking out the door of the tour bus to get some fresh air. He'd had a dreamless sleep but he had awoken so many times that he was still blinking it back an hour later. Coffee didn't even help much, and there was a lot of it left since Andy always refused it and Joe and Patrick usually drank two mugs between the two of them; Pete would drink double just to keep his eyes from slamming shut and letting him pass out.

"You look like trash," Joe mused, eyes crinkling in a shit-eating grin around the cigarette pushed between his teeth. "Forget to brush your hair, Wentz?"

"Fuck off," Pete groaned, glancing at Joe who was now offering the tiny death stick to him.

"Only because you fuckin' need it, man." Pete rolled his eyes and tentatively brought the smoky thing to his lips, taking a short drag and sighing contentedly after his coughing fit subsided. Joe ran his fingers through his shorter hair, looking over at Pete; disappointed as he drew out another cigarette and lit it. Pete's sarcastic eyes lit up and he grinned.

"Thanks, man. Could really use, like, a pack of these. We should stop before the show today." Joe barked out a laugh.

"Man, at this rate, we'll be lucky if we make it for the show itself. You and Patrick slept through it, but the van broke down. It's the only reason why we're stopped right now." Pete sighed. He had been looking forward to more stage time so he could mess with Patrick just a little bit longer.

"I'm gonna look up where the nearest gas station is," Pete decided, pulling out his expensive phone and burning the tips of his fingertips as he moved the cigarette out of his fingers and between his teeth. Derry Township gas stations flashed on the screen before Pete hit the go arrow and his phone began to silently whir to load the information, Pete tapping the sides of it as he waited, trying not to make a loose pun about IT and Derry. Instead, he focused on the yellow Wawa logo that appeared, apparently point eight miles away, meaning a twenty-minute walk. So, he did what any responsible thirty-nine year old would- he bounded back onto the fucked up bus, dragging a soaking wet (but clothed) Patrick off it with him and biting down harshly on the still lit cigarette.

"Pete, what?" The morning sun shone brightly on his dampened locks, they glistened and Pete would've stared at them had it not been for the fact that Patrick's clothes were clinging deliciously against his skin and how badly Pete wanted to- what! Nothing. He wanted to do absolutely nothing, Pete told himself, wrenching his gaze from Patrick's chest and focusing on the eyes with golden rings like wedding bands.

"You, me, Wawa in twenty. Fuck, that should be a lyric, huh?" He laughed at Patrick's suspicious gaze, trying to act like it was downright natural for Pete to have been ogling his best friend's damp body.

"Not as catchy as some of your others, but I guess it rhymes," Patrick gave him, still looking quizzical. "The bus fixed, then?"

"Nah, jitterbug. We're walking the old fashioned way, and I remembered you saying you forgot to buy glasses cleaner spray or whatever for the tour. I need a pack of smokes, so why not kill two birds with one stone?" Patrick sighed and threw an arm languidly around his shoulder.

"Pete, I thought you said you'd never start smoking." Fuck, he had said that at one point, years and years ago when they were still playing Arma shows full of stoners and the stench of smoke.

"Fuck, I did say that at one point." He sighed. Then he remembered something Joe had said to him earlier: Forget to brush your hair, Wentz? "Then we can go to buy you some glasses shit and I'll get myself a comb," invented Pete spitefully as he glared at one of his other best friend's figures. Joe didn't notice, making Pete angry enough to spit out the cigarette that still probably had the former's saliva on it and stamp the cancerous object into the ground, regretting the decision instantly as oxygen wafted back into his mouth. Patrick, now more resigned than confused, nodded and turned back to Joe.

"We're going to Wawa. Need anything?"

"Andy," Joe yelled to the bus, "Pete and Patrick are going to the Wawa! Want anything?" The grunt that issued from the bus made Joe respond, "mayonnaise and a pack of Red Bull," and the two men left without asking which item was for who.

They started out walking in silence, Patrick's arm getting heavier and heavier on Pete's shoulders until it gave way and Patrick slithered it back to his side. Pete relished the weight difference but despised the lack of contact, switching sides with the younger so he could link their arms. Now both Pete's right and Patrick's left were in opposite facing right angles and touching at the creases of their elbows. If looks could kill, Pete would be in heaven because of the blush and the faint smile Patrick sent him, just like the old van days and back when their biggest worry was Pete's pol-sci essay and Patrick's graduation gown being ripped. Pete shook these thoughts out of his mind and pulled out his phone to check how much farther they were from their destination. Three minutes, the screen read, but Pete wasn't sure considering that he couldn't see the convenience store. Patrick pulled out his own phone and went to check for this mysterious Wawa himself, extending his arm and pulling gently on Pete's tan wrist. Pete stopped moving, his feet turning until his face was three inches, four tops, away from Patrick's smooth, clean-shaven one, eyes not noticing their close proximity yet because of the thin veil of light clouding the milky skin that was the reflection from his phone screen.

"Oh, Pete, it's just over there," Patrick said, trying to point and accidentally poking Pete's defined chest with a short finger, now raising his head to meet Pete's eyes and suddenly they were even closer, their noses squashed together, lips close enough that each could feel the other's breath on his tongue and Pete just wanted to end the world and start a new one in one fellow swoop.

"But you're right here," Pete found himself huffing. Patrick looked as if he was smiling and a trickle of pink began to flood his cheeks just before Patrick shoved him away lightly, eyes shut and mouth wide in a laughing grin.

"Shut up, Pete," he choked out, still laughing at Pete's heartfelt words and Pete tried to keep a grin on his face as his own heart sank to his toes. Thankfully, Patrick was right; the Wawa was right over there. Pete ignored his previous words and just went over to buy the biggest slushie he could; he hadn't eaten since lunch with the waitress he almost fucked yesterday and he really wanted some comfort food. Patrick didn't notice, and Pete wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or if it made him feel worse.


End file.
